


Sopped Regret

by Cygnus_Salutes_Valor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Diary/Journal, Drabble, Drink, Heartbreak, M/M, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cygnus_Salutes_Valor/pseuds/Cygnus_Salutes_Valor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville is lamenting a missed opportunity to cuddle while hes bedridden with sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sopped Regret

I felt consciousness slam into me before I even remembered where I was. Those first 10 seconds groping the darkness were so tense. 

"Shit where's my phone?It looks late maybe its still around 2 or something and I can catch him?"

My phone is no where near where I am and when I find it blindly groping the night stand it reads 4:29 am. I've missed it. Its over. 

Yesterday I got a flurry of spirited messages from Nott begging me to hit the brew with him and after 2 smooth drinks and 2 brutal hours for crude jokes from Nott and I could barely stand and was sending embarrassing messages to a bloke so unbelievably out of my reach I can still feel the burn in my cheeks and neck recalling it. 

Blaise clearly didn't want me. 

He said he would get back to me though and the booze butterflies in my stomach told me it was worth a go to wait. 

I went back to my rooms and ate everything. Fruit, frozen dinner, a veggie sandwich, leftover soup and then made pasta with what little sobriety I could muster. I still left washy and I didn't want him to see me like this all done in and what not from 2 ales.

I had a wash, tidied and started on a cup of camomile for my stomach and me nerves.

Nothing helped and I just sank lower and lower onto my bed reading his messages over and over again and gradually curling into a heap fighting excruciating nausea and fighting for even breaths.

"Gods what's wrong with me." I said to no one because its always no one. I know now more than ever curled into a lump and gingerly sipping tea that I , Neville Longbottom, am meant to be alone. So when I came to 7 hours later in the dark and still in my trousers and socks I refused to cry.

When I scrolled through my messages (mostly drivel from Nott ) and found "Would you like to come to mine" from Blaise, I literally gave up. Hours of waiting and I shriveled up before the message came.

I remember when Harry, Ron and Mione' used to run off. Always excited and always whispering. I was never part of it because I guess they didn't deem me worthy of that kind of inclusion. I stood up to them once. And Hermione threw me down and I was unconscious till they left when we were only in grade school. When I woke up then I felt really similar to the way I do right now; fuzzy, cold, lonely and staring at the stuccoed ceiling feeling sorry for myself.

I guess when you look at it nothing has changed. My brilliance at herbal medicine and all my practice in ballroom dancing and being a decent bloke overall isn't good enough. Harry, Ron, and Mione don't need me. Blaise doesn't need me. Maybe that was always my problem; that I became good at things because I was always hoping that someday...someone would need me. Clearly this is an indication that I don't need them either. 

I looked out the window and the sun was looming just over the horizon. It was beautiful and I was day dreaming for a moment of finding fresh herbs at this time. If you pick them right off the stems with the dew on them and eat them it taste like morning. I love that. 

I'll be OK. Lonely, but OK.


End file.
